


scripted

by xelin



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: (the others are just mentioned), Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Byeongkwan finds this endearing, Dance Choreographer Byeongkwan, Fluff, Junhee is a dramatic bitch, M/M, Minor Angst, Musical Theatre Junhee, One sided enemies to lovers (?), bad humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xelin/pseuds/xelin
Summary: Junhee’s worked his ass off to get this role, and he’ll be damned if the musical’s dance choreographer is going to ruin it for him.





	scripted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackbluewoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbluewoo/gifts).



> i'm sorry it's a bit late but happy birthday? <3  
> this was a bit of a wild ride to write because i've been so busy, and i've never written junkwan, but it was nice to leave my comfort zone for this fic ^^  
> enjoy~

“Junhee?” Donghun calls.

From where he’s draped across the sofa, Junhee groans in reply. He doesn’t look up from his phone as Donghun wanders into the living room, kicking off his shoes. When Junhee turns to whine about this fact – his friend literally never learned to take his shoes off at the door, no matter how much he reminded him – his words vanish into thin air.

“Are those mine?” he asks dumbly, gesturing toward the envelopes Donghun is holding.

“No, I brought my mail to your apartment,” Donghun says, raising an eyebrow. He slips one envelope out of the pile, throwing it in Junhee’s direction. “Read that one.” The others are abandoned on the coffee table before Donghun heads out into the kitchen.

With a frown, Junhee squints at the writing on the envelope. Half a second later, he nearly falls off the sofa.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was from the animateur?” he yells, summoning Donghun back from the kitchen. He’s holding a glass of milk, and is in the process of shoving a cookie in his mouth.

“Just open it, you’ve been waiting for the better part of two weeks for it,” he replies amidst the crumbs.

“You really need to stop inviting yourself into my apartment. College roommates doesn’t equate to permanent roommates.” Junhee fiddles with the envelope, hyperaware that he’s just kind of putting off opening it. He’s been waiting for this letter for weeks, but now that it’s in front of him, he isn’t sure he wants it in his sight at all.

“Stop being dramatic.” Donghun chugs the milk and leaves the glass on the coffee table. Junhee chooses not to mention how, had he done that in Donghun’s apartment, he would have been thrown down a flight of stairs with no prior warning.

Donghun forcibly shoves Junhee along the sofa in order to sit beside him, taking the envelope from his hands.

“You’ve been whining about this letter at least once a day for far too long. If you don’t open it now, I’ll go burn it on the stove.” He waves it threateningly. Part of Junhee hopes he’s joking. The other part knows he isn’t.

“Fine.” Junhee takes the envelope back, tearing it open. “Fine!”

Donghun raises an eyebrow at the newfound enthusiasm; pushes himself to his feet, giving the other a long look. “I told you this before, but even if–”

“Even if I don’t get the role, I’m a perfectly capable actor with infinite potential,” Junhee mimics, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to comfort me.”

He unfolds the paper with rushed fingers; he knows Donghun means well, but hearing anything comforting from the other – when not laced with well-meaning insults – throws the world off its axis. Whether he gets the role or not, he can manage. After all, he’s a fully grown, totally functioning adul–

Junhee struggles to hold in any reaction upon reading the print, eyes flicking up from the letter. Donghun is watching him closely, squinting for any sign of reaction.

“Hm… Ba– no, uh… Good news. It’s good news?” he tries.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Junhee protests, to which Donghun shrugs, brief concern evaporating into his usual disinterest.

“You’re an open book to me, Park Junhee,” he says, disappearing back into the kitchen (probably to eat more of Junhee’s food). “I knew you’d get the role.”

“That’s not what you were saying earlier, asshole,” Junhee mumbles.

✎

Around two years ago, Junhee was on edge.

“You okay?” Donghun asks, leaning over the cafeteria booth’s table. He’s been watching Junhee shred napkins for the past ten minutes, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. “Dude? You’ve been really weird all lunch.”

Junhee blinks. Puts down the napkins. When he looks up, Donghun is staring at him incredulously.

“Sorry, yeah.” He glances around. “Are the other guys coming?”

“They’re getting food, they’ll be a couple minutes,” Donghun says. His eyes don’t leave Junhee. “That means you can tell me if something’s up.” Before the other can say anything, he adds, “You’re easy for me to read. I’m not gonna make you talk, but you can’t pretend you’re fine.”

Junhee sighs, bunching up the shredded napkin and putting it into Donghun’s empty starbucks cup. “I don’t know. Parents called again.”

“Did they say anything different?” Donghun frowns. “Or just the usual lecture?”

“The usual lecture, but… I don’t know.” Junhee folds himself into sitting cross-legged on the seat, chews on his lip, all of the usual nervous habits that Donghun has gotten far too used to by now. “I’m starting to wonder if they have a point.”

“What?” Donghun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Since when do you listen to what they say?”

“I don’t know. I’m just starting to wonder whether this’ll go anywhere when I leave uni,” Junhee says, fidgeting.

“You’re like, top of the entire musical theatre major. All of the professors love you. If you’re not going anywhere in the industry after uni, I doubt anyone in your class is.”

Before Junhee can reply, he’s shoved further down the booth seat by Yuchan. Donghun makes space for Sehyoon and, just like that, the conversation is gone.

Across the table, Donghun flashes Junhee a reassuring smile. It helps, a little.

✎

Junhee is unfortunately aware of how many people are staring at him.

After the animateur had spoken to him, he’d vanished into the throng of other actors and actresses, probably having many other people within the cast to speak to. Although the chat had been full of formalities and small talk, Junhee wishes he’d come back. There’s only so long a man can stand by the refreshments table sipping diet coke before he looks blatantly lost.

And, quite frankly, he’s too awkward to brush off the obvious eyes trailing his movements. It was just supposed to be an opportunity for the cast to meet one another, but it was already making him want to curl into a ball. Couldn’t someone come talk to him, rather than the room just collectively trying to melt him with their glares?

“Hello?”

As though summoned by Junhee’s (apparently rather loud) thoughts, a girl is hovering in front of him, holding champagne and looking far more composed than he is. She’s watching Junhee with an odd sense of curiosity that’s shifting more into confusion by the second– and that’s when it hits him that he hasn’t replied.

“Oh, uh, hello!” He stumbles out of his half-lean, forcing himself into an awkward bow which is less awkwardly returned by the actress. “I’m Park Junhee.” He briefly curses himself for already ruining his intended image, and blames it on the nerves turning his stomach to jelly and throwing him off-kilter.

“I know.” She smiles politely, but her eyes crinkle in amusement. “I’m Kang Seulgi, I’ll be your co-star for this production.”

The name switches on a light bulb in his brain, and he feels like slamming his face into the wall, a little more than mortified. He was working with a big name in the musical industry – how could he forget? As if sensing his panic, Seulgi tips her champagne flute at him and lets out a short peal of laughter.

“Is this your first production out of university?” she asks. After his nod of confirmation, she continues, “Don’t worry about it so much. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, act like you do. Confidence will sell anything, I swear. With that face, everyone will buy it anyway.”

Before Junhee can even show a hint of embarrassment, Seulgi’s shifting back into the crowd. She spins around, holding up her glass and mouthing a bitter ‘ _ I don’t even like champagne’ _ before vanishing.

Suddenly feeling awkward with his diet coke, Junhee is beyond thankful to have such a friendly co-star.

✎

“Pleasure to meet you!” the choreographer says loudly, dipping into a quick bow upon entering the room. “I’m Kim Byeongkwan.”

Brief greetings pass through the small collection of cast members, everyone’s confidence a little smothered by the enthusiasm radiating from the new addition. His hair is too long, mussed up, brown strands hanging in front of his eyes in a frustrating way that makes Junhee want to cut them himself. His presence is intense and overwhelming, even from such a short interaction. It makes Junhee feel kind of small. He doesn’t like it. Feet shuffling on polished floorboards, he silently hopes this guy won’t be spending too much time with the cast over the coming weeks.

“I’m your dance choreographer, so I’ll be spending plenty of time with you for this show.”

Junhee resists the urge to sigh.

When Byeongkwan casts a glance over the lineup, he pauses on Junhee; jabs an accusatory finger at him, making him stagger backwards as though hit.

“You! You look like you can already dance. Am I right?” he says, voice dripping with a self-assuredness that makes Junhee want to grimace a little.

“A bit,” he replies, watching Byeongkwan click his fingers and whisper something that looks suspiciously like  _ ‘I knew it’ _ . He chooses not to bring up how the choreographer had absolutely no reason to ‘know it’ in the first place.

Around an hour later, having been forced to demonstrate far more than was necessary (he wasn’t sure if Byeongkwan had it out for him or something), Junhee is crumpling his empty water bottle and trying not to radiate too much bitter energy from where he’s leaning against the mirror.

“He seems nice,” Seulgi says, sprawled beside him, hair pulled up into a bun and eyes twinkling.

When she throws him a bright, cheerful look, Junhee can’t help but wonder if this is is some kind of misguided optimism that comes with industry experience, or if she’s just far more sanguine than him.

✎

“What you up to?”

Junhee chokes on a lettuce leaf in surprise, half-slamming his salad onto the table’s surface. Byeongkwan, having appeared from seemingly nowhere, is watching with slightly wide eyes, a bag of candies in his hand.

After regaining his composure, Junhee tries not to glare at the other. After the first choreography lesson yesterday, he hadn’t seen Byeongkwan at all, as per expected. His shirt sleeves are rolled unnecessarily up his shoulders, his hair still hanging frustratingly in his eyes.

“Eating lunch,” Junhee says bluntly, unsure as to what kind of answer Byeongkwan was expecting.

“Salad.” He frowns in distaste, sliding into a seat on the opposite side of the table. Junhee sighs at the lost solitude. “That’s not lunch. How can you act and sing when you’re running on nothing but cucumber?”

“I like salad,” Junhee retorts, violently stabbing his fork into a tomato. After a moment, he adds, “It’s healthy. I have to stay in shape to be a musical actor, anyway.”

“It must be a hard life without snacks,” Byeongkwan says, dipping a hand into the bag of candy and popping a sugar-coated deluxe sugar flavoured sugar lump into his mouth. For a brief moment, Junhee thinks mournfully of the secret cookie stash in his apartment.

(He formulated aforementioned stash in order to hide his favourite cookies from Donghun, who walked right into his apartment the next day and found them anyway. It’s not so much a secret stash anymore, Junhee supposes.)

“I guess if you are a snack, you don’t need to eat snacks,” Byeongkwan says thoughtfully, chewing slowly.

“Excuse me?” Junhee stops, fork half way to his mouth.

Byeongkwan smiles, eyes scrunching up as he does so, before he swings his legs back over the seat, gets up, and begins to walk away. Junhee doesn’t move for at least another minute, brain still reeling in an attempt to comprehend the encounter. Eventually, he gives up, drowning his thoughts in salad instead. He’s convinced new work relationships aren’t supposed to be this... Informal? He isn’t sure. Whatever.

✎

Junhee stands up, thanking the makeup artist politely and watching her cheeks automatically colour as she assures him that he looks great. He shifts to join a few of the other actors who are hovering by the door, waiting to be called for an initial costume rehearsal.

“Oh my god,” Seunghee says, conversation with Seulgi cut off instantly. “She did a great job with you. No wonder you went into something like acting, look at you.” She gestures vaguely at his face.

“What?” Junhee laughs, offering a vivid smile. “Thank you, it’s sweet of you to think so.”

“And he’s all stereotypical gentleman too,” Taehyung says. “You really do belong in this industry, huh?”

Junhee waves his hands, embarrassed, but enjoys the warm feeling the compliments leave behind. Hearing comments on such things would be slightly uncomfortable usually, but having them come from more experienced musical actors than himself makes it a lot better.

Their conversation is cut short when their vocal instructor pokes his head through the door and asks if they’re all ready. They begin to trail after him, but Junhee is stopped by a light touch on his arm.

“Oof,” Byeongkwan says, retracting his hand.

“Did you just say ‘oof’ out loud?” Junhee asks, giving the choreographer a disbelieving look, before glancing longingly at the other actors, who are now disappearing down the corridor. Seulgi, upon noticing that Junhee isn’t following behind, gives him a questioning look, to which he just offers a hesitant thumbs up.

“It was automatic,” Byeongkwan defends.

Junhee rolls his eyes. “You’re not very professional for someone working in a serious production environment.”

“I just really wanted to see how you looked with makeup.” Byeongkwan smiles brightly, and Junhee suddenly feels an odd compulsion to squint as though he’s staring directly at the sun.

“I really have to go to my rehearsal,” is what he says instead.

“Do well, Park Junhee!” Byeongkwan looks as though he goes to give the other a supportive pat on the shoulder before remembering that personal space exists. “Break a leg.”

“Break a what?” Junhee says, visibly shocked, but the choreographer is already disappearing back through the door to the makeup studio.

✎

Junhee tries not to yell in frustration, pushing his hair back from his forehead instead. Despite the practice room’s air conditioning, he feels far too hot and sweaty, shirt stuck to his skin. He just wants to go shower.

At the familiar  _ ding _ of a text message, Junhee goes to check his phone, sitting in a pocket of the coat he had strewn on the floor.

**[19:03] donghun:** when will you be home? i’m gonna come over i wanna show you this new drama i started

Junhee debates going over his routine one more time, but is reminded of how gross he feels. Maybe tomorrow.

**[19:05] junhee:** i’ll shower and call a taxi now, was just practicing some routines

He grabs his coat and phone, flicking off the air conditioning switch by the door. Before he can also turn off the light, a familiar face presses itself against the window of the door.

“Oh my god–” Junhee resists the urge to fling his phone at the glass, watching Byeongkwan’s face mould into a grin. Trying to channel inner peace, Junhee pulls the door open.

“It’s late, why are you still here?” he asks.

“Oh, cute, are you worrying for me?” Byeongkwan says dramatically, all wide eyes and fake shock.

“I literally hardly know you,” Junhee sighs, gesturing for Byeongkwan to step backwards so that he can turn off the light and leave the room.

“You’ve been practicing!” he says brightly. “And yet you still look like a snack.”

“Stop calling me that,” Junhee says, visibly irritated. When he starts to walk down the hallway, a pair of footsteps trail after him.

“I’m being serious!” Byeongkwan protests, but he’s laughing all the same. “Are you leaving now?”

“No, I’m staying here all night.” Junhee rolls his eyes, walking slightly faster and hoping Byeongkwan would take a hint.

He doesn’t. Rather, giggles at Junhee’s irritation, slows his walking somewhat so that Junhee is able to march away successfully. “See you tomorrow, cutie!” he says, a little too loudly and a lot too cheerfully. Then, he seems to have some kind of epiphany. Stops in his tracks. Gasps.

“Cutehee,” he says, absolutely baffled by his own revelation.

“Oh my god.”

✎

A couple of days later, Junhee is sitting on a counter in the hair styling studio, combing the hair spray out of his curls with a phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m telling you, today’s been too exhausting for me to want to cook,” he says.

“But that means I have to call someone for takeout,” comes Donghun’s voice through the phone. “I’m really not in the mood to talk to people.”

“Get over it.” Junhee looks up when he hears the door open, automatically plastering on a charming smile – and feeling it wilt away.

To his credit, Byeongkwan looks equally surprised to see him. “Who you talking to? Your girlfriend?”

Donghun laughs so loudly that Junhee has to hold his phone away from his head.

“I’m going home now,” Junhee says intelligently, depositing the hairbrush in a container on the counter and stumbling to his feet. In the process, he manages to slip a little on the tiled floors, almost knocking the entire container over in an attempt to stabilise himself.

“Wow, you’re so…” Byeongkwan struggles for words. “Noodle-like.”

“Noodle-like,” Junhee echoes.

“Yeah, like you seem so orderly and composed around the cast, but sometimes you just…” He waves a hand vaguely at Junhee. “Yeah.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Junhee finds himself rather offended at the implication. He’s convinced Donghun has told him this a hundred times before, but hearing it at a production set puts an odd taste in his mouth. Byeongkwan seems to sense this change in atmosphere, for his eyes widen, glittering as though he’s found gold.

“You just have this whole prince persona thing going all the time, but you’re kind of awkward, really.” When Junhee frowns, he eagerly asks, “Am I annoying you?”

“I’m not awkward!” Junhee feels his frustration build, and smothers it quickly. “I’m going home.”

“You seem annoyed.”

“I’m going  _ home _ ,” Junhee repeats, pointing a threatening finger at Byeongkwan as he walks out of the door. It isn’t until he hears a snort that he remembers he never hung up on Donghun.

“Do you have something to say, too?” he snaps, holding his phone up to his ear.

“He got you,” Donghun laughs. “God, he really got your personality down to a T. I’ve never noticed someone point that out before, even throughout all of uni. Honestly, I’ve actually never seen you get so whiny with anyone other than me and the guys.” Suddenly, he goes quiet, then bursts out laughing even louder. “Noodle-like.”

Junhee hangs up on him.

✎

As someone who quite enjoys dance, Junhee is beyond disappointed to find himself in a position of dreading choreography lessons. Usually at least, Seulgi is hovering beside him, enthusiasm bubbling over into her tinted cheeks and unwavering smile. Junhee hopes he carries that air of keen confidence, too.

After the day’s first session, Junhee goes to fill up his water bottle at the water fountain outside of the practice room and encounters the sun in its most evil form.

“Dance man,” Byeongkwan says, popping up like some kind of wild Pokémon.

“Absolutely not.” Junhee gives up on his hydration mission, turning around and preparing to get himself back to Seulgi as quickly as possible.

“Park Junhee, don’t be like this!” For someone with little legs, Byeongkwan is having no trouble keeping up with the purposeful pace. “Come on. I’ll grow on you eventually.”

“Like mould,” Junhee says.

“An endearing mould?” Byeongkwan supplies helpfully.

“Is your life goal to wind me up?” Junhee falls to a stop outside of the practice room, not quite wanting to waltz in with this demon in tow. He gives Byeongkwan a hard look, and is disappointed when he doesn’t even remotely flinch; rather, he seems even happier.

“How self-absorbed you must be to think my life goal would involve you, when I haven’t known you longer than a week.”

Junhee resists the urge to pour his entire water bottle over Byeongkwan’s head, and chooses to enter the practice room instead. Thankfully, the choreographer doesn’t follow him, and instead enters several minutes later, grin unwavering as he proclaims the break over.

✎

“That’s a wrap!” the animateur calls. “Good job everyone. Get some rest, we only have one more dress rehearsal before the first show.”

Junhee lets out a dramatic sigh and accepts the high five Seulgi throws at him.

“You did great! Like, better than usual. You seemed super into it,” Seunghee says, giving him a thumbs up. Junhee returns it cheerfully.

“Thanks, you too. I’m kinda anxious about it being my first actual musical, but I’m lucky the rest of the cast is so reliable.” At his words, Seunghee and Seulgi both soften and smother him with sisterly words of affection.

“We have to stay in contact, I really need to watch any other musicals you’re in after this. You’re such a talented prince, Junhee,” Seunghee says, ruffling his hair in such a parental way that he almost forgets she’s younger than him. When the cast begins to disperse, a voice disrupts Junhee’s thoughts.

“Prince Park Junhee,” Byeongkwan drawls, leaning over the edge of the stage and resting his arms across it.

“You have literally no reason to be here!” Junhee protests, fixing the other with a harsh glare.

“Jokes on you, I’m the dance choreographer, I have every reason to be here,” he says gleefully, all toothy smiles and scrunchy eyes.

“Well, you have no reason to talk to me,” Junhee retorts, sticking his hands in his pockets. He glances around to check that the rest of the cast and staff are gone, and that none of them will witness him possibly debating the murder of the production’s choreographer.

“I do, it’s a biological requirement,” Byeongkwan says. “You’re my oxyjun.”

Junhee groans in frustration, ignoring the stupid grin plastered on Byeongkwan’s features when he leaves the stage.

✎

“Jun?” Seulgi leans over to nudge him from where she’s getting her hair styled. Junhee perks up, eyes lifting from his phone, moving so quickly that his own hair stylist gasps in an attempt not to stab him with the comb.

“Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” she begins, pursing her lips. “Why has our dance choreographer attached himself to you?”

For a moment, Junhee’s brain short circuits. Then, he huffs out a stressed, “He  _ what _ ?”

“He talks to you a lot. I initially assumed it was because you were both dancers, but he’s everywhere. He’s been sitting back there staring at you for at least five minutes.”

Junhee spins around, freaking out his hair stylist once more, and finds himself meeting eyes with Byeongkwan, who gives him a little wave.

“Did you already know him beforehand or…?”

Junhee, unfortunately aware that he doesn’t have a sufficient answer to Seulgi’s question, kind of wants to melt into the floor. Knowing that he already lost all sense of cool composure the moment he met the actress and therefore has no confident act to keep up, he just shoots her a totally helpless look.

“Got it,” she says, asking no more questions.

When his stylist sets him free, Junhee maps out escape routes right off the bat, but Byeongkwan seems to have caught on rather quickly.

“Park Junhee!” he says, voice unnecessarily loud, and Junhee gives up. “Ooh. You look pretty.”

“Pretty done with you appearing literally everywhere,” Junhee hisses back.

“You love me,” Byeongkwan insists, flashing him a little ‘okay’ gesture with his hand. “Good luck with rehearsals.”

And, just like that, he’s disappearing toward the door, leaving Junhee standing awkwardly in the near-empty hair salon; he has nothing but a strong urge to fling Byeongkwan out a window. Unsure what to do with himself, he glances back around and makes eye contact with Seulgi in the mirror.

She wiggles her eyebrows. He chooses to ignore that.

✎

**[18:34] donghun:** we’re not watching that

**[18:34] junhee:** you said i could pick??

**[18:34] donghun:** i don’t care that’s my exception

**[18:34] donghun:** not happening

**[18:35] junhee:** i’ve had such a long day n u won’t even let me watch my minions

**[18:35] donghun:** i’m literally never speaking to you again

“Good evening, Park Junhee.”

Junhee drops his phone, the device falling to the floor. Byeongkwan sits on the wall beside him, thankfully leaving a rather large gap between the two, and tucks his legs up to his chest. The bricks are covered in a very thin layer of frost, Junhee’s hands turning slightly stiff from the cold.

“What you up to?”

Junhee picks up his phone and glances back toward the theatre behind them. He looks down at his phone screen, to where he was in the process of sending around ten pensive emojis to Donghun, and then back up at Byeongkwan. His hands are tucked behind his knees, and he’s scrunching his nose, breath coming out in little plumes of steam.

“Waiting for my taxi?” he says eventually, hating how it comes out as a question by default.

“It’s cold,” Byeongkwan says, instantly followed by, “Yknow, you never really explained why you–” He does some indistinct gestures that Junhee can’t decipher. “The whole perfect gentleman act while you’re at work.”

“If people like me, I’ll get more roles,” he says, which isn’t exactly wrong.

“Yeah, but you’re a good actor, singer, and dancer. You’d get roles anyway. Hell, didn’t you say you finished university recently? And you’re already the lead role in a pretty big musical.” Byeongkwan laughs, then says, “I know it’s kind of a joke, but the animateur really did tell the staff you carry yourself like, and have the aura of, some kind of prince.”

Junhee, instantly embarrassed at the idea, presses his hands to his face to cover sheepishly pink cheeks and lets out a sigh.

“See, that.” Byeongkwan pokes a finger into Junhee’s cheek, which he violently swats away. “You’re all clumsy and shy, really. You have no reason to act so confident all the time.” Slightly quieter, he adds, “You’re naturally cute, anyway. People will like that.” Junhee ignores this, and perks up at the sight of his taxi pulling into the street instead.

He’s regrettably conscious of how he must look from Byeongkwan’s perspective – switching his positivity on and off like a light switch. It’s kind of exhausting, but he’s struggled a lot to get himself into musical theatre. He isn’t willing to risk anything going remotely wrong at all.

“And you have to reason to follow me around and tease me, yet here you are,” Junhee counters, frowning as he stands up.

“I just like seeing you break your composure. It’s really funny.” Byeongkwan beams, paleish skin now tinted rose from the cold.

“To you, maybe,” Junhee says, aware of how mopey he sounds as he wanders to where his taxi had parked. Even if he wasn’t aware of it himself, Byeongkwan being in a fit of giggles behind him would have made it more than obvious.

✎

Junhee is nervous.

Seulgi is hovering beside him while a makeup artist is quickly fixing her eyeshadow. She’s watching him with slight concern.

“Don’t be nervous, Jun. We’ve practiced a bunch. Once you do the first performance, the rest will be easy. Piece of cake,” she tells him.

He’s absentmindedly chipping baby blue paint off of a table, resisting the urge to mess with his recently styled hair. He only pauses his actions to offer calm smiles and words of encouragement to other cast members that pass by.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just prestage nerves,” Junhee says, convinced he’s reassuring himself more than Seulgi. “I’m going to wander around somewhere a little emptier. I’ll be back before overture.” He shuffles out of his seat, exchanging brief ‘good luck’s with the co-star before he leaves the main backstage.

He’s sitting with his back against the wall in an empty practice room, reading through the onslaught of rather aggressively supportive texts Donghun had sent him in the past couple of hours, when Byeongkwan knocks on the door. He pokes his head in at first, as though double checking that he has the right room before he walks in.

“There you are, Park Junhee. You look nervous.” He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, hovering near where Junhee is sitting.

“I’m not nervous,” Junhee lies. Byeongkwan nudges him with the tip of his shoe.

“You definitely seem that way to me,” he says. When he doesn’t get a reply, he nudges Junhee once more, corner of mouth twitching into a smile. “For real though, you doing okay? Prince boy better get his act together quick, I’m starting to get worried.”

Junhee shoves him back a little, out of his personal space, then stands up, tucking his phone into a spare pocket. He feels a little sick with apprehension, but he’d never admit that.

“I’m doing fine,” he insists.

“Dude, you can be… Not fine.” Byeongkwan shrugs, but he seems more relaxed now that Junhee is arguing back like usual. “You really don’t need to put up an act or anything, especially not for this. You’re not impressing anyone.”

Maybe it’s the anxiety-fueled feeling in his stomach making him more on edge than usual, but Junhee decides this is the wrong choice of words.

“What do you know?” he snaps. Byeongkwan’s eyes widen a fraction at Junhee’s tone, as though he can sense the sudden shift in mood. “I didn’t work this much to get here only to ruin it by slipping up. Do you know how many people think musical theatre isn’t a valid aspiration? I’m doing fine. I’m going to do fine. If I do well, nobody can say anything.”

Byeongkwan takes an uneasy step back, hands slipping out of his jean pockets. His brief concern from earlier has multiplied, trepidation showing clearly with every little movement. “Hey–”

“Don’t start,” Junhee cuts him off. “Do you know how frustrating it is to have someone trailing behind you when you’re trying to take work seriously? You’ve been nothing but annoying this entire time, I can’t figure out what you’re trying to gain.” He side steps Byeongkwan, and makes a move for the door. “You’re not impressing anyone either.”

“Junhee, I didn’t–” Byeongkwan starts, but Junhee is already out of the door and shutting it behind him.

He doesn’t have time for this. He has to do well.

✎

Fortunately, Junhee can say the performance went fine, with no slip ups. Once he was on stage, everything clicked into place, like every dress rehearsal had. It was a great feeling, like he was made for this.

Unfortunately, Junhee can’t say that he wasn’t struggling with this odd sense of guilt throughout.

Quite literally part-way through a solo song, it hit him that maybe, possibly, he had overreacted to Byeongkwan’s teasing a little. Only a tiny bit.

Or a lot.

Once this I’m-an-asshole revelation hits him, it sticks in his mind throughout the entire performance. After the curtain call, he zones out through the exchanging of enthusiasm and pleasantries among the cast, his brain helpfully deciding to prioritise the thought reel of  _ Byeongkwan, Byeongkwan, Byeongkwan _ .

Finding the choreographer is easier than planned, as Junhee comes face to face to him the moment he busts open the backstage door. He doesn’t offer his usual loud greeting or shove his way into Junhee’s personal space, but he’s still smiling, as always.

“How did it g–”

“You!” Junhee says intensely, pointing a finger at Byeongkwan.

“Me?” Byeongkwan points a finger at his own chest, eyebrows raising. Junhee does a quick check behind him to make sure nobody is following suit, and then locks his eyes on Byeongkwan, who suddenly seems beyond overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” Junhee declares, and Byeongkwan’s eyes widen comically. “I’ve been nothing but rude to you since we’ve met, and I went too far earlier.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pushed it or anything. I thought the teasing was all in good fun, I just found your reactions really cute, but I really didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t take the blame!” Junhee whines, waving his hands. “Let me apologise. I really fucked up.”

“Really, Jun, it’s chill–” he tries again.

“No, it’s not,” Junhee insists. “I’m trying to admit to being an asshole, stop ruining it by being nice.”

At this, Byeongkwan bursts out laughing, eyes still scrunching up and every one of his emotions painted across his face. An open book.

“I feel like we’d get along in any other environment,” Junhee thinks aloud, watching Byeongkwan try to catch his breath. He’s bright, every action overexpressed, every reaction laced with enthusiasm. The happiness even spills over into Junhee somewhat, making him feel warmth where apprehension had previously rested. Byeongkwan had always been the kind of person Junhee would have wanted to know, and yet he’d hardly paid attention to him. “I’m sorry you had to deal with stressed me.”

“Stresshee,” Byeongkwan supplies helpfully.

“Apology redacted.”

Byeongkwan grins, and Junhee is thrown back to his earlier thought process. This idiot really does shove the entire luminosity of the sun into his smile.

“It’s fine, you’re awfully cute when you’re sulking,” Byeongkwan says, and Junhee chooses not to pay attention to how often the other has referred to him as such. “We can reattempt, if you like. A quick start-over.” He bows shortly, and holds out his hand, noticeably holding in laughter. “Hello, I’m Kim Byeongkwan. I’m a choreographer for musical theatre.”

Junhee bows in turn, shakes the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Prince Junhee, and I’m a musical actor.”

Byeongkwan snorts.

✎

Junhee is sprawled out across the couch, silently scrolling through his Instagram feed, when he hears the door open. He doesn’t bother to look up from his screen until he hears voices. Plural. He sits up quickly.

“Get out of my apartment,” he demands the moment Donghun walks into the living room, Byeongkwan trailing behind him. They make a point of ignoring him, Byeongkwan greeting him by ruffling his hair in passing, but not sparing him a glance; as per usual, Donghun treats Junhee like a ghost. In his own home.

“Excuse me? Get out of my apartment!” he repeats, watching them vanish into his kitchen. “Why does nobody ask me before they come in? Donghun, you’re getting Byeongkwan into bad habits.” He slams his phone down on the coffee table. “You could at least knock!” he yells.

Donghun pokes his head back through the doorway, cookie in hand. “I’ve never knocked before, I’m not starting today. And if I get to do it, so does your boyfriend, or it’s favouritism.”

When Byeongkwan appears beside him holding an entire packet of oreos, Junhee can only mourn the loss of his not-so-secret stash.

“You’re both the worst,” he decides, going back to his phone with a sigh of resignation.


End file.
